The Sounding of a Trumpet
by Pforte
Summary: It's a meeting of chance that brings them together. As transparent as Adam is, Methos has never been good at resisting temptation. HighlanderHeroes crossover.
1. In The Beginning

**Disclaimer:**I do neither own _Highlander the Series_ nor _Heroes_. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Note: **I wrote this a while back and forgot to upload it here. The thought of Methos meeting Adam was just too tempting and the plot bunnies pounced. This story is slightly AU because Methos is still working for the Watchers and still using Adam Pierson as his alias. 

* * *

**The sounding of a trumpet**

_Prologue: In The Beginning_

Two days after he had received the call he arrived in Japan. As so many times before, he was shocked to learn about the death of someone he loved. It had happened countless times over the course of five thousand years but it still hurt every single time anew. 

He had not seen Kamiya Shoko in thirty years – though there had been frequent letters and the occasional phone call – but that she still listed him as one of her closest friends touched him. He had loved her once. In her twenties she had been a beautiful woman with skin the colour of almonds and hair as dark as sin and shiny as silk. Of course, he had to leave her in the end. She had not wanted to leave Japan, where their love had been frowned upon at the time, and she had also longed for children of her own, a wish he could not grant. Nevertheless, they had stayed in touch and he had congratulated her when she married and became the proud mother of a sweet daughter and two sons. 

Now she was dead and there would be no more letters. He would miss her subtle humour and her kindness. Like so many others she had never known his real name.

* * *

The funeral was set to be in the afternoon and Methos woke up just in time. There wasn't only the jet-lag to blame, he had been drinking a bottle of sake in Shoko's honour the night before. Make that two. A pity that even immortals suffered from hangovers. If he had made it through one more bottle he would have died from alcohol poisoning and woken up right as rain. The look into the mirror told him that he looked like he felt and the only thing he could think of to banish the cobwebs from his mind was a cold shower. With a sigh of resignation he turned the water on and stepped into the shower. The icy cold water thrilled every fibre of his body and set his nerves on end but he was wide awake when he stepped out. He brushed his teeth and drank a glass of water with two Aspirin in it. Quickly, he dressed in the expensive suit he had bought in Paris before his departure. Adam Pierson did not own anything so costly and proper and he had charged it to the credit card of his alias Mathew Jameson. 

When he arrived at the cemetery he discovered that he was not the only gaijin. A young woman resembling his Shoko in an uncanny way and shaken with grief was supported by a handsome and very tall blond. The wheel of fate had a dark sense of humour after all. 

He would not stand with the family and friends because he wasn't either. He was a young stranger in an expensive black suit who had written a polite letter informing Shoko's eldest son that his father was bedridden and would not be able to attend the funeral, not to mention come and see the deceased in her _shini shôzoku _before the cremation So he made his way over to a shallow bank, just near enough to listen to the service. 

At first he thought it was an animal in pain but then he realised that he could make out words like 'help' and 'goddamnit'. English words. Methos looked around and did not spot anyone. None of the other people present seemed to hear the voice. He stepped down the other side of the bank. It was clearer now. A male voice, weak and hoarse from screaming, but decidedly 

human; a man screaming for his life. Methos shuddered despite the warm autumn day. He knew what he was dealing with now, had experienced it several times himself. Being buried alive was one of the most horrible experiences of his long life and something he did not wish on his worst enemy. Well, apart from Kronos, but that had been long ago and a necessary evil. Silently, he asked Shoko for forgiveness and followed the voice. His steps were almost soundless on the soft grass. A bird sang. It was most surreal. 

In the middle of a family burial place he discovered the source. The muffled cries were becoming louder now. Awful memories flashed through his mind. Methos looked around. He could not start digging up a grave in broad daylight, especially not if the man down there was one of them. He did not feel his immortal buzz but this could have many reasons. _If he was one of them. _The grave wasn't yet covered with grass but it was not fresh either. Whoever was down there had been buried for a few weeks. No mortal could survive this. 

"Whoever you are, hang on," he whispered. "I'll be back."

* * *

The sky was covered with heavy clouds and no moonshine lightened the darkness. This would make things harder and easier at the same time. Methos would have to use a lantern but hopefully nobody would spot him in the starless night. After packing some light food and two bottles of water into his rucksack, he sneaked back into the cemetery unseen and armed with a shovel and his sword. Better to be prepared for everything. 

Apart from his breathing, his footsteps and the occasional clang from shovel against sword, there was no sound when he arrived at the grave. Either the man had died or fainted from exhaustion. Methos stashed his coat and rucksack behind a tombstone and started to dig. The soil was astonishingly hard and firm and it took him over two hours to reach the coffin. To make matters worse it started to rain. 

"Perfect," Methos snarled through gritted teeth. His arms burned and his back ached from the exertion. The man down there had better be grateful. With a screeching noise the shovel finally met the metal coffin. Another thirty minutes went by until the whole box was freed from the earth and laid open. Hands muddy, Methos reached for the lantern to get a better look. He gasped at the sight in front of him. Whoever had buried the poor bastard had known exactly what he was doing. This wasn't a tomb, this was a prison. The coffin was firmly locked._ Bugger it all._ Methos was annoyed; he had not brought any tools, something which Amanda would find highly amusing. But then...

He frowned down on the metal coffin. Back in the good old days people had been buried wrapped up in linen or at least laid to rest in a wooden coffin. Provided that the person inside was immortal, metal made sure that he could not get out, ever. And someone thought that the man inside deserved this fate. Maybe he should get the hell out of there and forget about his find. Ignoring the water running down his face, Methos stared at the box he had just dug out. No, nobody deserved this; not the silence and the oppressing darkness; not the hunger and the thirst; not the claustrophobia and the hallucinations. Dying in a coffin was not easy. One suffocated a few times and died of thirst and madness in-between before starving on top of that. Methos sighed. Shamefully unprepared as he was, there was no way he would get the coffin open. He would have to leave and get proper tools.

* * *

Explaining his dirty and sweat- and rain-soaked attire was not too difficult. He surprised the shop owner with his flawless Japanese and a convincing lie about his car being stuck on an unpaved road outside the city did the rest. He purchased a hammer, a battery-powered screwdriver, which was harder to explain, a robust pair of gripping pliers and a pack of batteries. Thank gods for credit cards and gullible and overworked staff. He was pretty sure that any odd American would have taken him for a mad serial killer about to mutilate his latest victim. Well, desecrating a grave was so much more acceptable. 

His luck held on the way back, though he almost ran into a group of drunken teenagers. It was extremely fortunate that the graveyard lay in the outskirts of Tokyo; when he arrived at the open grave it lay in silence, still. What if he had been wrong and the man down there had been mortal? Methos did not kid himself; he would not have wasted his time if he had believed that to be the case. Mortals died all the time, no matter how much he cared for them. 

"Let's get to it then," he said aloud and took the screwdriver out of the plastic bag. In the light of the lantern he fumbled with the pack of batteries and pushed them in place. The noise of the screwdriver was annoyingly loud and he tried to hurry. It wasn't easy to get a grip on the slippery coffin. Luckily, the screws loosened in no time, though he would have had considerable difficulties if he had to have done it manually. Bless the age of technology. The handles were more of a problem and it took all of his strength to pry them open. With a dull thud the coffin lid fell to the ground. 

"About time," Methos grumbled and peered inside. The man looked very young and he had obviously died of lack of oxygen, at least the last time. He was horribly thin and his face was frozen in a desperate grimace. "Well, you had better wake up from that, mate. Take a deep breath and say hello to the world." Methos scrutinised the coffin. The silk fittings on the lid were ripped and torn. The man's suit was bloody around the cuffs of his sleeves and so were his hands. Poor bastard. He sat down on his heels and waited. 

The sudden intake of breath sounded unreal and startled him, even though he had been waiting for it. The immortal's blue eyes were widened in horror. 

"It's all right. You're safe now," Methos said in what he hoped to be a soothing manner. 

"Oh...oh God!" rasped the man, the terror of death still in his eyes. He had short blond hair, which was plastered to his head. 

"Just breathe. You're safe," Methos repeated patiently. It took a few more shuddering breaths until a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks and his eyes cleared and focussed on Methos. 

"Water?" asked Methos and got up, heading for his rucksack. 

"Don't leave me," the man pleaded, his voice still hoarse. "God, I...it was dark, _so dark_ and I called for help but no-one came." His voice was hardly audible. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Methos assured the man and rummaged in his rucksack for the bottle of water. The other grabbed it eagerly and took a deep gulp. He had been too greedy and, choking on it immediately, he coughed up water through his mouth and nose. 

"Easy there," warned Methos and the immortal obeyed, drinking more slowly. He gasped and sputtered more than everything else but the water that actually went down his throat did him good. He looked livelier already. "What's your name?" asked Methos after a few minutes of watching him closely. 

The voice was steadier and clearer now. "Adam Monroe. And thank you, I owe you my life."

Adam, well... 

"I'm Mathew," Methos said smoothly, "and we both know that this is not true, strictly speaking. I may have spared you a long time of misery but being trapped in a coffin doesn't kill us."

Adam shot him a surprised look. "How did you...who sent you? The company?"

Methos did some quick thinking. Either he referred to whatever organisation buried him alive or he knew about the Watchers. Better to play dumb. "The one that did this to you? I think not."

Adam eyed him out of his blood-shot but startlingly blue eyes, suspicion written all over his face. They were still sitting in the middle of a Japanese cemetery and dawn was fast approaching. Methos quickly checked the surroundings and then turned back to Adam, giving him his most sincere look. 

"Listen, nobody sent me here. I was attending a funeral service when I heard you screaming. I could hardly start digging you out in broad daylight, so here I am, spending my night in a cemetery, desecrating a family grave. I understand your suspicions and, considering the state you're in, they are probably justified, but we have to get out of here soon, so you had better trust me for the moment."

After a few seconds, Adam nodded. "This may be a strange question...although, all things considered, maybe not." His mouth was drawn into a weak smile. "Where are we?"

"We're in Tokyo, Japan." 

"I see," Adam said, a far-away look on his eyes, which was gone so quickly that Methos wondered if he had imagined it. "OK, I'll trust you, Mathew," Adam said at last. Unsteady and pale, he tried to get to his feet. Methos reached out and drew him up. They were about the same height but Adam's clothes hung loosely around him. 

"I brought you something to eat but you'll have to chew and eat very slowly, all right?" Slowly, he let go of Adam, who wavered but did not fall. He reached into his rucksack once again and handed him a milk roll. With a slow smile Adam held it up close and smelt it, before taking a small bite. He closed his eyes and swallowed carefully. 

"Now, come on," Methos urged him. Leaving the shovel where it was, he heaved the rucksack on his back and offered Adam his left arm for support. Never his sword arm. 

"You don't happen to have a car, do you?" Adam asked as they slowly made their way toward the gate. 

"No, sorry. We'll have to get you to my hotel on foot." Methos was not happy about that either. He hated to draw attention to himself and dragging in a man who looked half-dead did precisely that. "I told you, I am only here for a funeral."

"Ah, it all falls into place," remarked Adam dryly. Methos bit back a laugh. He did not want to push his new acquaintance and asked no more questions until they arrived at the hotel. 

"This is going to be interesting. I booked a single and this is not the most exclusive hotel around, so they will notice. I'm sorry to say this but you look like death warmed over."

"I see your point," replied Adam with a grimace and looked regretfully down at himself. 

"Believe me, I _know_ how you're feeling right now," said Methos, ignoring the surprised look he got, "but in order to make this work you have to pull yourself together. Can you walk in on your own?"

Adam frowned at the building. He appeared weary and haggard but his body had healed to a certain extent. "Yes," he said, determination in his voice. 

"OK, put my coat on," Methos ordered.

* * *

Adam looked very young and innocent as he slept soundly in Methos' bed. The fact was exceedingly disconcerting because Methos had yet to feel his immortal buzz. Strange indeed. Methos would certainly not find any sleep while sharing the room with a strange immortal he could not feel. When they had arrived in his room, he had ordered a strong broth for Adam, who stayed hidden in the bathroom while it was delivered and who had eaten with great vigour afterwards. Methos had persuaded him to wait with the shower until the morning, since hot water would probably make him faint right away. Grudgingly, Adam had agreed and gone to sleep. Since then, Methos had been wondering how old he was and why he could not feel him. 

From what he could see, Adam did not have the body of a fighter. He had a lean figure and his recovering body showed no signs of strong arm muscles. He seemed to be more of a runner, though capable of wielding a sword. All this was good news, since it meant that the man in Methos' bed was not looking for fights, was not out for heads. Still, he had to be careful. A five-thousand-year-old head was a price most immortals would not refuse. 

Methos stood up and walked over to him, having a closer look. "Who are you?" he asked quietly. Adam did not stir.

* * *

"God, this felt like heaven," Adam said as he entered the room, a towel slung around his narrow hips. Methos nodded, knowing only too well how Adam felt (only that they had not had showers the last time he returned from the grave). He was almost completely healed. His skin looked healthier, his blood circulation apparently readjusted, and his eyes were lively and alert. 

"Yes, a good night's sleep, a decent meal and a hot shower do wonders," he agreed. "Now that you're better, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Adam tensed visibly but kept his smile. "What would that be? I can't imagine what you would ask someone you dug out of a grave." Methos grinned. He may not be able to trust the other man yet but he liked Adam's sense of humour. 

"You spoke of a company," Methos started. He had been thinking about this, too. If Adam did not mean the Watchers he could be in big trouble. Another renegade organisation of mortals knowing too much for their own good, and with an unknown agenda, was exactly what Methos needed. 

"I did," Adam said hesitantly. It was obvious that he would not have mentioned it if he had been in better shape. 

"I take it they know about us," Methos went on. 

"_Us_? Well, yes. This leads me to a question of my own. How did you know about my power? How did you know that I was immortal?" Arms folded, Adam frowned at Methos. He was dripping on the carpet but had apparently no intention of getting dressed before he received an answer. 

"No mortal would have survived more than a day or two. Modern coffins are well-made and hermetically sealed. Mortals would suffocate rather than die of thirst or starve to death. The grave did not look fresh and thus you could only have been one of us," Methos stated matter-of-factly.

Adam nodded but something about his reaction didn't seem right. Methos watched him warily turn around and walk over to the bed, where his suit lay crumbled on the floor. 

"You don't need to wear that, you can have one of my shirts and a pair of shorts at least." Methos got up and made his way over to the small commode next to the bed. He drew out a white shirt and a blue pair of boxer shorts and offered them to Adam. 

"Cheers." Adam took them with a nod and pulled them on without further ado. When he was finished he looked as harmless as a college student. Not that Methos fell for appearances; _his_favourite disguise was that of a scholar. 

"When you say _us_, "Adam began, "do you mean that there are more people with our kind of power?"

Methos only stared at him. The man in front of him had to be younger than expected. With a sigh, he sat down on the bed. "Yes, I thought you knew. I didn't expect you to be new to the game."

"I'm not," Adam replied hotly. "I'm nearly four hundred years old, give or take a few. I'm certainly not _new to the game_."

Methos was stunned. This Adam was a miracle. How could he not have met other immortals by now? Was he lying to him? Or had he lost his mind in the grave? 

"You're not impressed?" Adam went on and somehow this seemed to shock him.

"No. I have friends and enemies who are much older than that. I myself am 756 years old," he lied. The trick was to flesh out his aliases as much as possible. Mathew Jameson was one of his oldest living inventions and he worked quite well for Watchers and Immortals alike. Jameson was known to be peaceful and to avoid fights at all costs. He had amassed a considerable fortune over the centuries and commuted between London and his private island in the South Seas. He was used as a holiday assignment for burnt-out Watchers who usually sat on a yacht and watched the beach of Jameson Island. 

"You are?" Adam paled. He looked forlorn, looked as if his world view had just shuttered. 

Methos nodded. "Yes, but quite honestly, I can't imagine how we escaped your notice. You must have felt us."

Adam's blue eyes showed only confusion. "How?"

Methos leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. This was becoming more and more curious. Adam had never felt an immortal buzz and Methos did not feel _him_. Could it be that he was some kind of anomaly? He had never heard of such a thing but it was not entirely impossible. But why did he say that the company knew about _them_? If he did not mean immortals who was he talking about?

"Adam, you have to help me out here. You have never met anyone like yourself and yet you spoke of a company who is aware of us. To be honest, I am confused," Methos admitted. Adam gave him a long look Methos could not read. 

"This may take a while," Adam said eventually. "Would you mind if we grab a bite?"

* * *

"This is much better," grinned Adam and stuffed the _Nigiri-zushi_ into his mouth. Methos sipped on his tea. They sat in a small_sushi-ya_ near the hotel and Adam was steadily making his way through the meal in front of him. Methos only wanted a beer but, of course, they did not serve any drinkable brands. Just his luck. The place was ideal though. There was only one customer besides them and the old man was content to drink his tea and read a newspaper. 

It was a beautiful day and if he had not been so tired he would have been able to enjoy it. It had been some time since he had been in Japan and he would have loved to catch up on 

things. And then there was Shoko's death that still dampened his mood. The two of them had been happy once, too many years ago. 

"All right." Adam had finally finished his meal. "The company I mentioned was founded over thirty years ago with the purpose of saving the world. People with special abilities came together and tried to make the world a better place. I say 'tried' because the company has long become corrupted. I spent the last three decades in a high-security prison because I had not approved of the course the company was taking. I was considered a threat and locked away. Through a series of very fortunate circumstances I managed to break out very recently. Well, obviously, they caught up with me and tried to make sure that I would never bother them again."

"People with special abilities such as what?" asked Methos.

"Regeneration, teleportation, levitation...the list goes on. I knew people who could kill with their minds, go nuclear or had superhuman strength. There seems to be a circle of some sort, since the same abilities re-emerge after a few generations. The company has kept track of every individual with special abilities they were able to locate. This is not as difficult as it appears to be, since mutated genes are hereditary. I was involved with their research and that's why I thought I knew that apart from me and a girl named Claire there were no regenerators in existence." Adam smiled cynically. "Consequently your revelation that there are many more took me by surprise."

"I see." Methos nodded. Provided that one believed in rapid and spontaneous evolution, this actually made sense. As long as Methos could remember – and this was a very long time – there had always been mediums and people with psychic powers. What if all the myths and legends about giants and monsters went back to humans with a few mutated genes? "Well, it is fairly obvious that there is no us in a broader sense," Methos said smiling and, leaning back in his chair, he added, "I take it you were somewhat important to this company at one point." 

"I was privy to classified information, yes," admitted Adam. "I knew about their long-term plans and, most importantly, I knew about a virus that would have wiped out over 90 of the world's population if ever released. Fortunately, my collaborators and I managed to destroy the virus after our escape. This is for what I was buried alive." 

Excellent, another end-of-the-world virus. Kronos would be so pleased. Methos took another sip of tea to conceal his emotions. Kronos, Silas and Kaspian had had to die but they had also been his brothers for a very, very long time. Using a virus to recreate the good old days had been madness but deep down Methos was aware of the undeniable truth: he had liked the thrill. Being back with his brothers, concocting plans that really challenged his mind – it had been exciting. He gave Adam a closer look. There was a bitter streak around his mouth, which was understandable, but there was also a strange glimmer in his eyes. Adam had not told him everything, which was generally fine with Methos. Though young, the other man was no fool and did not trust easily. There was something about him that drew Methos in. Moreover, Adam was the key to a source of knowledge Methos had not known existed. These _mutants_ were a group of people he had failed to identify for over 5000 years and he itched to know more about them. When did they first appear? How did it all start? Was Adam right or were there older regenerators, children of the millennia like himself, Cassandra and Amanda? Survival was not only based on swordplay and physical power. Keeping the mind occupied was just as vital. Methos knew very well that an immortal weary of life was a dead immortal, as paradoxical as it sounded. 

"And what will the company do when they find an empty grave?" Methos asked shrewdly. 

Adam grimaced as if in pain. "They will go after me and make sure that my next resting place will be more permanent."

"Why did they not kill you thirty years ago?"

"Because I cannot be killed," Adam said a little too quickly. _Ah_, so there was an Achilles heel. "Can _you_?"

Methos took refuge in another mouthful of tea. Smart boy; he needed to be more careful with what he divulged in front of him, even indirectly. Telling Adam about the game could turn out to be fatal. On the other hand, if he wanted to learn more about the company he had to gain Adam's trust. 

"My kind...we all take part in a game," he said eventually. 

"A game?" Adam cocked an eyebrow and gave him an inquisitive look. 

"A game to the death. There are rules to be obeyed, ancient rules. We face each other in combat, hand to hand. The winner takes the loser's life and grows stronger. There can be only one," Methos explained darkly. 

"I assume there are weapons involved," Adam said dryly. 

"Swords."

"Ah, of course," smiled Adam. "This must be the reason you had a sword hidden in your coat last night."

Methos could only nod. Adam might have been half-dead but he had been perceptive. Another reason to be on guard around him. It would be so easy to wish him a good life and board the next plane, getting away from him as far as possible. But Methos had not felt so alive and curious in a very long time. There was something he knew nothing about and Adam was part of it. He was a riddle, an intriguing distraction with as many facets as a prism. 

"A long time ago, I used to have a sword myself, a special sword. It was forged by the greatest swordsmith alive. A sword like no other. It changed history. It changed me," Adam said, apparently lost in memories. Then, abruptly, he snapped out of it, his mouth drawn into a cynical smile. "The company acquired it and used it against me."

Methos shrugged. "Swords are swords. You sound like they are the stuff of legends. Like in the local legend of _Kensei Takezō_ a good friend told me of." The memory was bittersweet; the friend had been Shoko. 

"A sword drawn out of a field of solid ice by the hero Takezō Kensei," Adam recollected. "Yes, I've heard of it."

"Mortal sentimentality," Methos said, running a hand through his hair. He wore it short again to look older. Continuing his work for the Watchers was only possible because he had taken a research post in a rather remote and insignificant archive in Brittany and changed his looks somewhat a few years back. _Mortal_ sentimentality indeed. It would soon be time to move on. "If you live long enough you can watch metal rust and the best swords crumble. Nothing is forever." 

Adam's eyes lit up at that. "I've never thought it possible to actually meet someone older than me."

"Only by a couple of hundred years," Methos replied quickly. 

Eagerly, Adam leaned forward. "How old are the eldest among you?"

Methos made a discarding gesture. "A few thousand years, I guess. There are myths but one hardly ever meets someone older than a millennium."

"And they never despaired of what they saw? The never-ending wars and plagues, the insanity of it all. Haven't you?" The glint in Adam's eyes lightened up his features and he looked as if the topic meant a lot to him. 

"We all have to go through our angry adolescence," Methos said carefully. He now recognised the look on Adam's face because he had seen it before, a long time ago, when mirrors were still made of sanded copper. 

"Angry adolescence?" asked Adam incredulously. 

"Well, yes. Thoughts of grandeur and superiority based on our prolonged existence. World weariness and despair at the misery around us. Been there, done that." It was Methos' turn for cynicism. 

The glimmer in Adam's eyes died and something like defeat flickered over his face. It was gone in an instant and all that was left was a youthful-looking immortal with big blue eyes and a hesitant smile. Methos heart ached at the sight of him and he did not want to think about the _why_.

"I'm sorry," Adam said after a few more seconds. "Being trapped in a coffin certainly causes dark thoughts and fuels the desire for revenge. I'm grateful to you, Mathew, I really am. I didn't want to spoil the day." 

"You didn't," Methos assured him, pushing his chair back. "But we should get you some new clothes and a hotel room of your own. Ready to go?" He had made up his mind. As likeable and fascinating as Adam was, he could not risk being around him. Checking up on people with special abilities would be more difficult without Adam but not impossible. So Methos would assist him to get back on his feet and tomorrow he would catch his flight, just as planned. Yes, that was what he was going to do.

..._tbc_

* * *

_Like it? Don't like it? Feedback is always welcome, so take a minute and tell me what you think!_

* * *


	2. The Pale Horse

**Disclaimer:**I do neither own _Highlander the Series_ nor _Heroes_. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Note: **Unfortunately, I can't update this story as often as I like. Real life rears its ugly head. Many thanks to my betas and everyone who reviewed!

* * *

_Chapter one: The pale horse_

It was already dark when Adam was finally settled and insisted on inviting him to an exclusive and horribly expensive restaurant for dinner. He was now clad in modern-cut designer clothes; a crisp white shirt and dark blue suit that fit him perfectly. Methos could not think of any reason to reject him; he was in Japan as Mathew Jameson and not Adam Pierson and Mathew lived in luxury after all. He found that Adam Monroe was a great conversationalist with a wide range of topics and a huge repertoire of anecdotes. Already, he caught himself wondering if Adam's fatalist opinions of mankind had only been due to his trials. Weeks in a coffin could do that to a man. With a shudder Methos remembered what harm years could do. All in all, Methos enjoyed the evening, especially since they served decent imported beer.

"I missed Japan," said Adam, as they walked out of the restaurant. He had a satisfied smile on his face and he walked with the self-assurance of a man who was content with the world.

"When have you been here the last time?"

"A long time ago. They hadn't had cars yet," Adam replied.

"It's a beautiful night," said Methos. "Let's walk back to the hotel."

They had got Adam a room on the ground floor, which was fine by Methos. He had chosen this hotel because it was moderately remote, if one could speak of such a thing in Tokyo. In any way, he felt safer knowing that no other immortal slept on the same floor as he did.

Methos came to realise how late it was when he noticed how empty the streets were. They just stepped on a little square as he felt an immortal buzz. Immediately, he stopped in his tracks and looked around.

Adam was aware of the change in Methos' behaviour at once. "What is it?" he asked in a low voice. Methos did not answer and proceeded to scan the environment for the immortal. The square was sparsely lit and it was hard to make out anything. His eyes were busy searching for escape routes.

A woman appeared from behind a corner. She moved quietly but, at least, did not have a sword in her hand.

"I never expected to see you again," she said in Japanese and Methos realised that she was not even looking at him.

"It's been a long time," replied Adam, not in the least surprised. Methos watched the woman carefully as she approached. She was slim and petite but she held herself erect and her gait was determined.

"I remember the last time we met very well. I remember your betrayal and I have forgiven you," the stranger went on.

Adam let out a humourless laugh. "I remember _your_ betrayal as well." No mention of forgiveness. Interesting, thought Methos. She stood in the shadows and he could not see her face but he saw her bowing her head in acknowledgement.

"Hiro would be so pleased to know that you're still alive." There was a definite edge to Adam's voice now.

"So this is his time? This is when he lives?" she asked. "I would be in your debt if you let me know where I can find him."

"You're already in my debt, Yaeko. Even if I knew where he was now I would not tell you," Adam told her, bitterness evident in his voice. Methos looked at him in surprise. Adam's face betrayed no emotions but he sounded as if only talking to this Yaeko upset him. Methos felt like an intruder and drew back, moving into the shadows of the square.

"So it is like this. After all this time," Yaeko said plaintively.

"I loved you once but make no mistake. Your betrayal turned my love to ashes."

Poetic, thought Methos wryly. They both sounded like an old Japanese epic.

"You had your revenge, Kensei," said the woman, stepping closer. Kensei? Methos' eyes widened in the dark.

Adam smirked. "And it felt good."

"If I had known about immortals then I would have taken your head," the woman replied hotly. Methos could see her better know. She had a pretty face but it was livid with anger. "I should take it now." She drew her sword.

"My head?" Adam shied away from her blade.

"Yes, defend yourself!" Yaeko demanded. "I challenge you."

"I must disappoint you but I no longer carry a sword. It's not exactly customary anymore and your beloved Hiro stole mine a long time ago."

"You did not deserve it in the first place," she spat.

Adam grimaced. "There was a time when you thought differently. When I was your hero." Yaeko raised her sword in reply.

"This has gone far enough," Methos found himself saying. They both looked at him as if they had not been aware of his presence before. "Look, you did not feel his presence, you felt _mine_. I don't want to fight you but I can't let you take his head either. Not like this anyway. He has no sword and he doesn't partake in the game."

"Who are you?" the immortal asked. Methos noticed that she lowered her sword slightly.

"Mathew Jameson. I'm not looking for a challenge but _he_," he pointed at Adam, "isn't either. He is not one of us. Killing him would be murder." When exactly did he start to sound like 

McLeod? This wasn't even his business, for whatever was going on between them had started a long time ago. If Adam chose to make immortal enemies he had better deal with them himself, too.

"He is not?" Yaeko's pretty face showed confusion but then it hardened again. "No matter. He may be without a weapon but he knows how to use a sword. You can lend him yours."

"I do not part with my sword, lady," Methos said determinedly.

"Yaeko, I have a proposition," Adam piped up. "I give you my word that I will fight you if you insist upon it. But right now, I can't. Fighting a swordless man isn't exactly fair play, is it? Tomorrow, I'll have a sword and I'll meet you wherever you choose."

"You give me your _word_?" Yaeko let out a nasty laugh. "Your word counts for nothing, as we both know."

"And your conduct has always been impeccable," Adam countered acidly. Yaeko's eyes flashed with anger but she kept silent. A triumphant smile played around his mouth, as Adam shrugged. "People change. I'm not the man you knew."

The woman seemed to think about it. "Tomorrow then," she finally said and sheathed her sword. "I'll await you here two hours after midnight." Adam answered with a mock bow, which Yaeko chose to ignore. She nodded in Methos' direction and turned away; within seconds, she had disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

"Well, this was interesting. You seem to collect enemies," said Methos wryly.

Adam gave him a crooked smile. "Hardly. I didn't know she was immortal. She _wasn't_ when I knew her. At least, she did not heal instantaneously," he mused. "You do heal, don't you?"

"Yes, we do. But we need to die a violent death first, else we live a mortal life and die a natural death."

"That's interesting," Adam said and looked around uneasily.

"She's gone," Methos assured him. "I don't feel her anymore."

"Good. Let's go back to the hotel. I need to pack and contact the airport. I have a plane to catch in the morning; any plane out of Japan."

"You don't intend to keep your word then," Methos stated the obvious.

"God no. I'll do nothing of that sort." Adam waved his hand dismissively. "I told her the truth, you know. I'm_ not_ the man she knew." Whether his old self would have killed her without a second thought or would not have made any promises in the first place was left open. Methos did not feel like judging people for what they had done a long time ago. Everyone who lived long enough had his own demons to fight.

They walked in silence for a while. Methos had to mull over a few things he had learned about his new acquaintance and Adam seemed lost in thought, too.

"She called you Kensei," Methos couldn't resist to mention when they arrived at the hotel.

"So she did." Adam was apparently not willing to elaborate, so Methos dropped it and bade him goodnight.

Alone in his room, he took off his shoes, removed his tie and dropped on his bed. Finally alone!

It was all very strange. Since he had released Adam from his grave, his life had become too exciting by far. Adam was not only a new kind of immortal, he had also introduced Methos to the concept of humans with superhuman abilities, something Methos was more than keen to get to know more about. But Adam had not been completely honest with him and he had a powerful enemy: the company and whoever stood behind it. Methos was not yet sure how much of a threat this mysterious company was but he was certain that Adam himself was trouble. The woman Adam called Yaeko had confirmed this by recalling their joint past with a drawn sword. Methos should be happy about leaving Adam behind in the morning but he wasn't because Adam was also very _interesting._ If his old acquaintance had been right in calling Adam _Kensei_ and he was indeed that mythical hero...well, Methos was intrigued.

* * *

Adam looked after Mathew's retreating form with a mixture of reluctant reverence and anger until the other man was out of sight. Over 350 years he had lived with the conviction that he was unique and as close to being God as humanly possible. The point, of course, was that he was invincible and immortal and thus, no longer human at all. It came down to a simple formula: humans died, he did not. Mathew had destroyed that notion with a cynical and indulgent smile that made Adam's blood boil. But as angry as he was at being humoured instead of admired, he couldn't help being fascinated by Mathew. 756 years was quite an achievement, especially when taking into account that these people were so keen on beheading each other. Why was the head the centre of their power as well? Did they have the same origins or was it coincidence? What made them tick and why did it take a violent death to set their powers free? Would he have aged and died if he had not been killed at least once?

Adam's head spun as he opened the door to his room, which was small and furnished in a way that did not betray anything about the location of the hotel. It could have been a room in Germany as well as Canada. His last stay had been more traditional and he realised to his surprise that his words to Mathew had been true, he had missed Japan. He had not missed Yaeko though. Why were the two people who had humiliated and hurt him more than anyone else in almost four hundred years still alive? Adam fumed. Killing Hiro would be hard, since the little bastard could freeze time _if_ he saw it coming. He could get back at him by killing Yaeko but his revenge would be hollow if Hiro didn't know. Reuniting them was the last thing on his mind however. All in all, it was a tricky situation and the only company co-founder he could still count on was trapped in his own mind. What Adam needed was a new friend and this brought him back to Mathew.

In an unconventional way, Mathew was quite handsome. He had deep hazel eyes, a prominent nose, which gave him a Grecian profile, and he seemed constantly bemused. Adam knew little enough about him. He seemed clever but generally harmless. There was nothing bubbling under the surface he could exploit and use to his advantage. It had been ambition with Angela Petrelli and Linderman and an inferiority complex and suppressed anger with Parkman. Peter had been driven by guilt and fear of himself and it had been so easy to control him. If it hadn't been for Hiro, he could have manipulated Nathan and Parkman Jr. as well. Damn him! Adam was sure that it would take a long time until he would be able to close his eyes without fear of opening them to utter darkness and absolute confinement, and he had to thank Hiro for that. Death was a merciful alternative to lifelong imprisonment in a coffin and he suspected that Hiro had known that as well. Killing his father had been satisfactory but killing Hiro would be like Christmas come early. He deserved it. Had it not been for Hiro, he would have remained a contented drunkard and most likely he would have aged and died. But no, Hiro had to teleport into the 17th century and his world, had to convince Adam that he was destined to be a hero and marry the swordsmith's daughter. The trials of Takezō Kensei, his arse. Adam told himself that he was not obsessed with the thought of disposing of Hiro but it was undeniably on his mind.

It had been a long time since Adam had tried to manipulate someone older than himself but he wasn't afraid of the challenge. Apart from his life, he had nothing to lose, though after all this time he was rather fond of it. Consequently, he had to stick close to Mathew, find a way to get on the same plane as he did, and somehow manage to persuade him that it was in his best interest to bring the company down. Adam took a deep breath and flopped onto the narrow bed opposite the window.

Nobody said that this was going to be easy.

* * *

"What I really love about London is the anonymity," said Mathew and shouldered his bag. It had been a long flight and Adam had used the time to his advantage. Mathew might not invite him home – wherever that was, though definitely not London – but he would stay in touch and he was still very curious about the company. They had not talked about Yaeko again and had avoided certain other topics as well. Adam had made sure to keep the tone of their conversation light. Mathew had not shown any sign of suspicion and annoyance when they boarded the same plane, which Adam deemed as success. "So, where are you headed?" Mathew added and Adam saw that he was reluctant to get an answer in the direction of Adam not knowing what to do with himself.

"Oh, it's been a while since I was in London, so I thought I'll stay in town for a while," Adam said casually.

Mathew smiled broadly and patted his back. "Good for you. I suppose this is goodbye then. We'll stay in --" Mathew's voice trailed off and he scanned the environment with the strangely focussed look he had had the night they had met Yaeko. They had arrived in the dark of the night and although the airport wasn't deserted it was not overrun either. The people around them were mostly tired home comers, who did not look threatening at all.

A dark-haired woman was approaching them with a winning smile and outstretched arms. "Methos," she called out in delight and threw her arms around Mathew's neck. Adam noticed that he winced under her assault.

"Amanda," Mathew said coldly and disentangled himself from her. "Discreet as usual."

Amanda looked around, bewildered, and paled visibly as she detected Adam.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped and put some effort into looking it. "I didn't know you had company." She had a pretty but now rather contrite face. Her lips were painted ruby-red and she wore her hair in a bob that fell sleek and shiny over her cheeks and made her look younger than she probably was. That she was an immortal was almost certain, judging from Mathew's reaction. Or should he say _Methos_?He suddenly noticed that the very man was eying him sharply, eyes narrowed and cold. Adam reacted quickly and shrugged.

"So I'm not the only one with more than one name," he grinned. "Figured as much, to be honest."

Mathew relaxed his shoulders, grabbed his bag, which had landed on the floor under Amanda's embrace, and lost the threatening posture along the way.

The woman turned to Adam. "Ahem, I'm Amanda," she said with a bright smile. She had recovered quickly.

"Adam."

"Really? Now that's...a very common name after all," she sputtered. Mathew was ready to leave and his eyes bore down on Amanda in a fashion that did not bode well for her. He had clearly not forgiven her that she had let that name slip. Methos. Adam knew about the power a name could have. The name Takezō Kensei had been a burden, a curse even, because as Hiro had predicted, it had become legend. He had never heard of a Methos though. It sounded more like a made-up name, a word play on the Latin word _mythus. _

"I'm outa here," Mathew said, turning to leave. "See you around."

"Wait," Amanda said. "When does your connecting flight go?"

"In the morning. Now stop pestering me, Amanda, I'm knackered."

"I haven't seen you in almost five years and double that time for Mac. I've been looking for you."

"Do we have to have this conversation at the airport?" Mathew asked, annoyance written on his sharp features.

"I'm open to suggestions." She smiled seductively.

"Well, I don't want to inconvenience you two," Adam said matter-of-factly. At least the woman gave him an abashed look. Mathew eyed him as if he was ready to take him up on the out he had given them but Adam had counted on Amanda and her quick tongue anyway.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I don't even know how you came to know each other. We should have coffee. Or a beer. That always works and makes the old man here less grumpy," she said cheerfully. Was she hinting at a real age difference between them or was it only a figure of speech? Adam was too curious to let the offer go.

"Coffee would be great," he replied.

"Fine, fine," Mathew gave in, exasperated.

* * *

Things did not go as planned. Ideally, Methos would have lain in a comfortable bed in the hotel room he had booked, soundly asleep and far away from trouble. Tomorrow he would leave Mathew Jameson behind and turn back into Adam Pierson, mild-mannered watcher. Instead, he was sitting in a too brightly lit restaurant of a well-known fast food chain because pubs in England closed all too early and no café was open yet. They did not serve beer and the coffee was only barely drinkable. Spiffing.

"Mathew," Amanda began. For once she was behaving and made use of the name Adam had used twice for him in the cab.

"I'm all ears," Methos said unexcitedly.

"I've missed you. We all have," she went on unperturbed. "But I see that you're in good-looking company."

Adam grinned but kept silent. He was enjoying this, no doubt. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Amanda's biggest weakness was her big mouth. It would only take him a few more hours to find out that she was enraptured with everything sparkly.

"We only just met," Methos rumbled. "In fact, I dug him out of a tight situation."

"Quite literally," Adam chimed in. Amanda frowned when neither of them was about to elaborate.

"OK, you guys want to play that game, fine," she said snippily. Methos shrugged and sipped on the brown fluid some would dare call coffee. "Mac was back from his latest search for himself six years ago. He's been asking for you," she reproached him in the same tone.

"And I've always been there if there was trouble," Methos said.

"You've come to see Joe." Amanda didn't let go.

"Amanda, there are more urgent things on my mind than worrying about Mac's feelings," Methos snapped. "How would you feel about a different kind of immortal?"

Adam didn't look too happy about this turn of event but he had never told him to keep it a secret either.

"What are you on about?" Amanda took the bait.

"Me actually." Adam gave her a brief smile.

"Oh, come off it. You're not one of us," Amanda scoffed disbelievingly.

"That's the crux of the matter. He isn't one of us but nonetheless immortal."

"I would be happy if this didn't work a circuit all too quickly," said Adam.

"Of course," Amanda assured him – not to successfully from what Methos gathered. "But how?"

"Regeneration," Adam answered curtly.

"Naturally, there is a catch," Methos threw in darkly, meanwhile watching Adam curiously. He was obviously hesitant to tell Amanda too much. When Adam caught his eyes, he nodded encouragingly. It was not necessary to fill Amanda in but it wouldn't hurt either. Above all, this was about power and setting the rules. If Adam wanted to be around him – and he was quite obviously keen on it – it was about time that he knew who called the shots.

Adam sighed and slumped back in his chair. "There is the Company."

* * *

"So how did you meet him?" Amanda asked two hours later. It was four o'clock in the morning and all Methos really wanted was to go to sleep. After Amanda had heard everything about people with special powers and the Company Adam was willing to divulge – and it was considerably less than he had told him – Methos had called it a night and bade Adam goodbye. He had promised to stay in touch and surprisingly he meant it. Of course, Amanda wasn't so easy to get rid of. She had thrown herself into the cab he had called and was adamant about accompanying him to his hotel.

"Dug him out. Can't we discuss this later? My flight goes in six hours and I will even feign surprise when you tell me that you're going to be on board too, promise."

"You're incorrigible," Amanda muttered and sat down on the bed of his suite. He had told McLeod the truth, he would not stay in any hotel Adam Pierson could afford. This suite was paid for by Mathew Jameson.

"Am I wrong?" Methos arched an eyebrow. When she shook her head, he grinned cockily and went to unbutton his shirt.

"He's charming, I give you that. But in case you haven't noticed, he is a megalomaniac. If Mac knew who you're socialising with --"

"I'd be sent to bed without dessert, yes," Methos ended the sentence with a sardonic smile and pulled his shirt off.

"Or without your head," Amanda snapped. She was obviously worried for him, which was a little touching in itself.

"Amanda, just how stupid do you think I am? Why would I help the Highlander killing off my brothers of old only to gang up with an amateur a few years after?"

Amanda gave him a shrewd look. "I never presumed to understand how you tick, Methos."

He chuckled. "No, you didn't." He felt her eyes upon him, as he unzipped his trousers.

"But why?" she asked curiously.

"Why do you keep stealing?" he asked her in return and looked up in time to see her stiffen. "Amanda, MacLeod wouldn't understand but you've lived long enough to _know_. Boredom and indifference kills us as sure as a blade. You keep breaking into museums because of the thrill – the plotting and planning, the fear of being caught, the feeling of success. We both know that you don't care about the money, so why steal? You could have turned to mountaineering or motorsport, to gambling, politics or murder – anything that triggers the adrenaline we all crave every now and then."

"Why does it matter?" Amanda asked, frowning.

"It matters. You do what you're doing because it was part of your mortal life. You were a thief then, you're a thief now. You're doing what you're good at."

"Your point being?" She cocked her head, as he stepped toward the bed, only dressed in boxer shorts now.

Methos gave her a calculating smile. "The point being that I'm no different."

Her eyes widened in understanding. "I see."

"Smart girl. Now move it, I'm tired." He yawned demonstratively and got into bed. She skidded over just enough to let him draw the blanket over himself.

"Methos," she purred. The tone made him groan inwardly and he threw the woman on the foot of the bed an exasperated look. "Why haven't we hooked up since the 1920s?"

"Because you were in a huff when I left you and then you decided to play with the Boy Scout, remember?"

She shrugged. "His idealism was refreshing after all your cynicism. And he isn't as jaded as we both are."

"Yet," Methos grunted and turned away from her. "Be a darling and switch off the light."

"Methos?"

"Why are you torturing me?"

"Promise me something," Amanda said in that whiny tone she had when she wanted something badly.

"Depends," Methos mumbled, not bothering to turn around or open his eyes.

"Be careful, OK?"

"It's my middle name. Besides, I'm a big boy."

"I know but..." she started again.

"No buts, Amanda," he groaned, exasperated. She didn't continue but he felt the blanket being lifted and her lean body snuggling up behind him before he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Adam found a hotel eventually. It had taken him a while but he did not regret spending time with Mathew and Amanda. He had not found out how old she was or what role she was playing in Mathew's life but he had had opportunity enough to exploit her quick tongue. He now knew that their kind was being watched by an organisation called the Watchers. Adam was sure that Mathew had not even noticed her slipping the name, probably because they were both so used to using it. Luckily, he had not only the time and the money to make the best of his newly acquired knowledge, he was also free. More importantly, he had determination and thirst for revenge. He slept not more than two hours before waking up drenched in sweat, his heart racing, fully expecting to open his eyes to total darkness.

After a shower and a good breakfast, he set off. Five hours later he returned with a brand new notebook, a mobile phone, new clothes, several fake IDs and a semi-automatic 9mm. He preferred being prepared for all eventualities.

The good thing about being immortal was that one always had enough time. Adam was a patient man when it came to revenge. He had waited four hundred years to get back at Hiro, he could wait a little longer to destroy him and the world he lived in. One had to have one's priorities right. He wasn't a novice to secret organisations. The more people there were involved, the bigger the risk of a leak. It was time to find out just how big of an organisation the Watchers were. There might even be something about them on the internet. What a marvellous invention, the World Wide Web! He had missed so much while he was being imprisoned by the company. Just to think that Hiro would have let him rot forever and ever...very humane of a man who had wanted to teach him how to be a hero.

A Google search for _immortal_ and _watcher_ gave him over 160 pages of results because people were apparently so obsessed with the concept that there were several TV series and books dealing with it. Adam ordered some coffee and got to work. Sixteen hours later, he found the leak. Apparently, the Watchers were one of those secret organisations one could leave without being separated from one's body. And not all former members were clever and upright enough to keep their secret. Some were even stupid enough to mention their membership on their blog. A few phone calls and several clicks later he had an address and a name. Monica Gilbert did not know it yet but she had forfeited her life the minute she made that entry in 2004.

* * *

Blindfolded as she was, she sat in total darkness and the only sound she heard was her own rapid breathing.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she asked her captor. Did he want money? Oh my God, did he mean to rape her? Oh please, let this not be happening, please, please...

"You're safe. At least for the moment," a man said. His voice was so close that she felt his breath against her cheek. She winced and her heart hammered painfully against her ribcage.

"Why am I here?" she asked, her voice high-pitched, almost hysterical with fear. Her hands were tied behind the chair she was sitting, trembling on.

"Because you know something I need to know." Her captor's voice was calm. "I'd appreciate your cooperation and--"

"Whatever it is...do you want money? I'll give you everything I have, just please, please let me go! Please let me--" His fist ended her pleas prematurely and her head flew to the side. She whimpered.

"Now, interrupting me when I'm talking, that's rude," he went on, unperturbed by her whimpers and sobs. "And don't be stupid. Why would I capture_ you_ if I wanted money? It's not as if you had any. But then, if you weren't so stupid we would not be here in the first place, right? Who is Methos?"

Her mouth filled with blood and stinging from the blow, she almost laughed. The Watchers again. She had been warned, there was no escape.

"Methos? The Watchers? I don't know what you're talking about," she tried weakly.

"Of course. Now, Monica, let me explain to you how it will be. You can either be a good girl and cooperate or we can do this the hard way. I can assure you that the hard way will not be pretty. We both know that nobody will come looking for you. You left the Watchers four years ago and you just broke up with your boyfriend. Your parents are dead. There is no one." She heard the glee in his voice and shivered.

"Please, I never hurt any of your kind. I swear!"

Her captor laughed. "My kind? I wouldn't think so. I will only ask one more time. Who is Methos?"

She swallowed at the sound of metal on metal. Oh good God, he sharpened a knife! "The Watchers don't know much about him. He is a myth."

"A myth? What kind of myth?" her captor asked eagerly.

"The oldest living immortal. The chronicles say that he is nearly five thousand years old. I never believed it," she babbled. Her cheeks were wet with tears. If only she could see! At least the scraping sound had ceased. "Nobody knows where he is or if he is still alive. It's only a legend. A myth."

"Thank you, Monica," the cultivated voice sounded closer again. "You've been very helpful."

"You'll let me go now?" she asked, desperate hope in her voice.

"Yes, of course. I'm a man of my word," he replied.

And then the knife was rammed into her.

_tbc_

* * *

Please take a minute and **review.**

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